


Overthinking It, Deconstructed

by helena_s_renn



Category: Greta Van Fleet (Band), Music RPF
Genre: First Time, Friendship/Love, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Sanny, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: Late to the party of Sanny.Sam was dead serious... till he erupted in giggles."//Lover... lea-EEE-vehr... take- ehr...//"he warbled, a reminder of why no one ever put a mike in front of him.
Relationships: Sam Kiszka/Danny Wagner
Comments: 14
Kudos: 14





	Overthinking It, Deconstructed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luna65](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna65/gifts).



> *No disrespect meant in the direction of any member of GVF. The opposite. Characters are over 18.  
> *Thanks for beta-type assistance by luna65 and RF's fairy11. Any remaining errors are mine.  
> *I'm extremely late to the party when it comes to Sanny first time stories. This one is kind of all over the place. Enjoy regardless!  
> *Warnings for some really corny pop culture references, a bit of silliness, and an acknowledgment of that wave of anti-Danny hate a while back. Which was total bullshit.  
> *NOT endorsing any particular brand of condoms.  
> *Sammy's RL mama says all her kids can sing. I'll believe it when I see it.

-2018, summer

They hadn't been out of the States before. Short forays over the Canadian border didn't count. Press junket on the continent didn't have the rabid, invasive quality it often did in the US. Their next Q&A found them in a 19th century building, in a narrow, high-ceilinged, multi-floored flat serving as office space for an industry mag, so they could be assured the focus would be on more than just budding celebrity. 

The interviewer had offered them wine with their sit-down chat. Sam and Danny weren't supposed to partake. It just sat there on the coffee table, blood red in clear goblets, so tempting. Josh and Jake downed it like water. Near the end, Sam reached over, swiped a glass off the table and drank it down. What could they do to him, anyway? Nothing, in Europe. 

Two more glasses later, Danny gently removed the goblet from Sam's stubborn fingers and set it aside. "I'm cutting you off," he stated in an aside. "Last thing you want is a wine hangover."

"How do you know?" Sam widened his eyes. As if Danny had never touched a drop. Not hardly. The two of them moved as one from the room, sneaky sidle. No one even marked their leaving. 

"I know it's like a migraine combined with a cluster headache." 

Sam winced. He slurred his words a little in his next reply. "C'mon, Danny. Wanna ssshow you shomethin'." 

"What?" 

"Jus' trust me." The wine made Sam silly. And warm. And super-affectionate. Danny found himself hand-in-hand with his best friend, led through a door he hadn't seen on the way in, down a corridor then a flight of stairs. 

"How did you know this was here?" he asked with some suspicion. It was feeling more and more like one of those dreams where you can take door number one and end up singing camp songs in someone's cow pasture, or door number two and you wake up lying in bed alone too scared to open your eyes for fear of what sort of nighttime ghoul might be standing over you.

"I jus' did. Siddown." It was an overstuffed white leather couch he was entreated to park on, and that was how Danny found himself with a lapful of wiggly bassist, long 2.5% body fat muscle-bone-veins arms wound around him. Danny couldn't concentrate on whatever words Sam strung all around them, an unthreading coil of quantitative hyperbole. There were stars in his eyes, everything was too bright, and he blinked. All these years they'd been brothers, maybe closer because their bickering was fake, part of them done for fun, and the relationship they'd never named was by choice. Danny scented the good red wine on Sam's breath and more, like it was exuding from his pores. Though ever-wary of them being seen, he kept his eyes trained on Sam's. After years of reading signals off each other, as musicians, the language of attraction had come as a natural extension. 

Sam started as he was wont to do with one brush of soft, slightly spit-slicked lips on his cheek, kisses peppering his lips then more, a warm, wet slip of tongue. The progression down his neck then his chest to the extent of Danny's half open shirt then up again was impossible to ignore. There was no holding Sam off, it was just a game to the semi-drunk bassist. They'd done this, more than this. Hidden for the moment or not, at any second someone could interrupt their spiral. How they got away with it, on a couch tucked away in an out-of-sight little alcove while the twins finished their interview, might have been an act of god or their own vanity. No one was looking for them just then, and that alone made them untouchable but for each other.

"What are you doing?" Danny finally asked under his breath. Breath. Breathe. Quickened breath, breathing hard; he told himself that his increasing slouch was to keep Sam from nose-diving to the floor. He kept his hands decent, one on Sam's back mapping the play of smooth flat muscles that never stopped moving, the other gripping his upper arm. 

With scrabbling fingers, Sam pulled his drummer's shirt to the side and ducked down to lick his nipple into a peak. Between swipes of his tongue he murmured, still too loud, "I'm asking... not telling, not demanding..." 

"Asking what, yah lush?" 

"If you wanna be my lover." Sam was dead serious... till he erupted in giggles. _"//Lover... lea-EEE-vehr... take- ehr...//"_ he warbled, a reminder of why no one ever put a mike in front of him. 

"Ugh, stop!" It was an extreme reaction, what Danny did next. He clamped one hand over Sam's open mouth and the other around the back of his head. Their eyes met: Sam's were surprised and almost scared. Before Danny could analyze if he'd gone too far, Sam licked his palm. A bunch of times, quick. The shock of it made Danny let go and wipe his palm on the side of his leg. But he still had the fingers of his other hand threaded through Sam's hair. The rasp of tongue across his lines of life, head, heart was a ghost of a whisper he'd feel for long after the spit dried.

Then Sam, who had been sitting side-saddle across Danny's thighs, rearranged himself till he was astride. "You don't mean that."

"Well... just about the singing, or whatever you call that combination of gravel and mating alley cats." 

"Mating, huh? You don't want me to sing you love songs?" Sam inquired.

Danny looked up at him, eyes black with intent. Finally, he allowed within himself that he was ready. Sure they were kids by some people's standards, but they really hadn't been for years. They already belonged to each other, the core unit of them within the band, within their sphere. "The kind of songs I want you to sing don't have words. If they do, it's profanity and blasphemy laced with my name." 

"Oh my fucking god, Danny..." moaned Sam, arching and dropping his head back while Danny pulled them tight together. The temptation was too much. Clutching Sam's ass in both hands, their heat fit like living puzzle pieces wrapped in denim and nylon. 

"Just like that, Sammy!" He dared not use his full strength, nor volume much above a whisper. Not then. Nor when their couch frottage sped up thanks to Sam's rabbity thrusts. 

"Splooge, Danny," Sam whispered hot in his ear, both commentary and command, taking the dangly earring between his teeth. The series of quick tugs reflected the shots goo-ing up whatever Sam wore under his tiny shorts, he knew it, could feel the extra heat. 

The tightening in his groin could not be stopped. "Sam, I..." Danny tried and failed to keep his groan of surrender and completion silent. His fingers spanned Sam's waist, pulling him down tight as he juddered a humiliating release into his own pants. 

Apparently, the bassist wasn't fussed. "Gawd, Danny. I'd like to sssay that was as anticipated as the Shecond Coming but..." 

Blasphemy prevailed again even as Danny wrapped his arms around his best friend tighter than before. "Goddammit, Sam! We could've waited till tonight." 

Sam shook his head. "Not me. Sorry but I don't have balls of steel. And don't even think about holding out on me tonight. I mean, unless you want to. 'Cuz, y'know, I'd never try to coerce you... but I might try to talk you into it anyway. I mean fuck, your O-face..."

"...Fuck my face?"

"Shaddup... but then..." In the currency of Sam's elastic facial expressions, sated with a slight degree of miffed morphed into the next beginning of horniness. 

Danny decided it best not to go there a second time. "Alright, drunkie, I got it. You'll be a man of honor," they both sniggered, "and you'll get to see that face again, which unlike the rest of you I don't flash before ten thousand cameras and screaming fangirls." 

"And boys. And yes."

"We need to clean up. I can smell your jizz." It could have been more that Danny knew it was there than catching an actual scent, but it was sexy. And a total distraction. 

"You can NOT!"

"Can so. And this sticky mess, ugh." Danny lowered his voice further. "My junk's gonna stick to my pubes."

"Don't you stash wet-wipes and spare underwear in your backpack?" Sam's facial montage took on several degrees of incredulous. 

"Erm..." 

"Lucky for you, I've got extras." 

  


More interviews followed, and dinner, then back to the hotel. It was a rare night without a gig, and from sleeping on the bus. Throughout the remainder of the day, Danny returned again and again to the history of 'them', himself and Sam. The way they were, all of them, the Kiszkas by nature and himself by long association, there had never really been any sort of reserve, that was for outsiders. They were all best buddies, then they were a band. Years of that, one season blended into the next. 

Then there came the day when Danny looked over at Sam and things had changed, like someone had injected caramelized sunlight into his bloodstream. He'd always loved Sam. Only, he was in love with Sam. There was no guilt, no crisis of sexuality - that wasn't even relevant, not then. Sam's eyes looking back at him had been huge. Freaked. But in a way that meant, "Fucking finally!" Just for a second, and he was back to the business of gum-popping, too-smart-for-his-own-good best friend-ing. 

Sentimental affection had grown more physical. Nothing overt. A few more hugs. Longer hugs. More time spent by themselves, on walks or jamming. He couldn't even say who'd initiated their first kiss a few months prior. No, that wasn't true; he remembered. One night in their hotel room, Sam had got it into his head they should shotgun bong hits, air and smoke in the quarter-inch between them but it didn't end with that. His lips landed smooth and barely there on Danny's, and he moaned, "More!" His pupils expanded and they kissed hungrily like a couple of stoned teenagers (since they were) till Danny released the smoke through his nose, the curls of airborne motes fanning around Sam's head in a dirty halo. They deferred exploration in favor of satisfying the munchies that day. Not for long. 

It had been Sam who had first put his hands on Danny below the belt, a tentative touch that provoked a thundering rush of blood that pushed up his hand. They'd turned away to take care of the effects on their own at first. Danny had caused the first orgasm between them. Holding Sam against the wall, kissing him, his jawbone gripped in one hand and overexaggeratedly frisking him with the other for weed, keys, boner had made Sam come in his pants, a messy, laughable business, though it hadn't been Danny's exclusive goal at the time. What hadn't been laughable was how much seeing another guy - Sam! a real live, immediate person he knew and loved - bust a nut had sizzled his soul and hooked him in, in one long taffy-pull moment.

Weeks later, Sam had returned the favor and then some by blowing him. Now _that_ had been an education. A revelation. Performed by a person who also owned a dick, the combination of licking and suction had made him howl. Sam knew what to do, how to pull back till his cheeks hollowed, how intensely and for how long and what to avoid, had practically worshiped his erection - first into existence and then into eruption - and prayed to heaven by way of those disproportionately large hands rolling, and finally elevating his balls to let him come. Danny didn't know yet if it had been only a token. Two weeks ago that had been, minus a day and a few hours. There'd been a couple of deeply satisfying mutual handjobs but not a repeat. As for reciprocating, he didn't even know where to start. 

Through it all, though by now intimately familiar with Sam's body, Danny had avoided approaching what people always said would change everything for so long, it was ingrained in his psyche by his parents and church and having a sister. Pushed, dragged or running headlong over a cliff, he could feel the waiting expanse of open air. Flying off of it together without crashing and burning, he could only think that'd be some other minor miracle. 

  


Nor did Danny use his full and considerable strength when they finally got to his room, hours later. He'd always held back during sex with girls for fear of hurting whoever he had under him. It wasn't until he had positioned Sam on his knees to mitigate the awkwardness of friends becoming lovers and got behind him that Danny felt the personally-imposed limitation lift. By then, the effects of the wine long had worn off and Sam was stone cold sober. They didn't talk about what was about to happen, didn't have to. They'd been 'talking about it' for a decade or more, everything leading to this. 

Danny possessed an acute awareness from things overheard that Sam was hardly new to this variation of physical love. His mouth ran amok as he - for once - held still. "C'mon Danny, you gotta, I need you... " 

From his angle, Danny saw every lean muscle tensed, every vein popped, long cascades of chestnut hair tossed about. 

The divide, the gateway below him, before him. 

Thighs splayed for him. He was right there. Right there.

He sucked in a deep breath, "I want to... but really, Sam... I think that it should be you." Pulling away and hearing a disappointed little whine, he pleaded understanding. "You first."

"Why, Danny? I'm so ready. I trust you. With everything. My life, my body." 

"I need you to show me." Sam raised and turned his head, amused. "Show me how you like it. Please. What your favorite--"

"You're my favorite. But I'll show you, then, since you asked." Sam moved sideways and motioned Danny to lay down on his back. 

"Really?" They were close in height, but even Danny felt it, how he could overshadow Sam's spare frame. Yet it was the essence of being taken by the body Sam inhabited that he needed. He didn't know how he knew that, but it was like he always had. Gladly, he lowered his body down and reclined. 

There had always been a layer of bullshit and humor in 99 percent of their friendship and more recent sexually-charged exchanges. Before that night, whenever they'd tugged and teased each other the fireworks had volleyed and burst quick and volcanic. Danny'd had no idea Sam could or would proceed so painstakingly over his goosefleshed skin to every extremity. Fingers crabwalked up his ribcage. Slid down his inner thigh. Whenever Danny tried to get in a touch or kiss of his own, it seemed like Sam eeled away, only to reappear again in a second.

Where ever he went on Danny's body, Sam wouldn't stop kissing him there. Anywhere between his lips and his crotch had been fair game in what Danny was beginning to feel was his past life. Sam's purview went much, much farther. From his xiphoid process, a path following the lowest of his ribs, which jumped to his forearm and up the ticklish skin along more raised veins. The only time Sam showed lack of restraint was when he bit into Danny's right bicep, but kissed the red marks better when Danny squeaked, alarmed. Licking toes was a joke; neither actually wanted that although the stubby digits curled and uncurled almost hard enough to cramp. Sam licking his balls was no joke at all. Could a person die from the combination of shock and pleasure? Danny didn't think so, although the movement of fluid in the heavy glands led to a moment or two of panic. 

Less and less talkative, Sam's raspy voice devolved into nothing but moans and the repetition of, "Like that, Danny, Daniel, Daniel-san...?" 

"Stop trying to Miyagi me, Sam, ew!" 

The put-on accent went wonky. "A slow learner, you are. Use his hands, he must." 

"When I look at you again, you'd better not be green." 

"Only with envy." At Danny's inquisitive noise, Sam scritched at the thin skin of his inner thigh. "You're built like a brick shithouse, you know."

Danny was not impressed. "That's how you compliment your, uh, lover?" 

_"//LeeeEE-vehr...//"_ Sam yodeled like before, and Danny batted at him playfully. 

Could've been hours, could've been minutes later, and Danny was a moaning, shaking, writhing, sweating, leaking mess. His nipples screamed in pulses timed to his heartbeat from being pulled and pinched. Crunched-tight abs trembled; he could feel how his lips swelled from kisses just like his dick was swollen to capacity and purple. Sam curled his tongue there, too, around the underside of the head where all the most reactive nerves were concentrated. Lashes clotted with unshed tears, Danny's mouth was awash in saliva and words, words like, "Oh no, but Sam, that's so...!" His man overrode every protest with capable hands, his lush wide but focused mouth, his entire length fully on top of Danny for a while, then down between his thighs. Danny's eyes screwed shut tight. His flexibility allowed him to spread his legs wide, one heel hanging off each side of the bed while Sam worked below his balls with slick skill. Opening him up to this thing which Danny was beginning to understand was not the end-all but only the beginning. Or no, another beginning, one of many.

He felt like he was levitating, hyperventilating. His stretched thighs flexed. As Sam crawled up on him again he was grounded and pinned, melded with the earth in spite of the mattress under him and however many floors up they were. All he could do was trust Sam. And want Sam: that was an ache that he'd known early, it just got stronger. 

"Alright, Danny," whispered Sam, his eyes both soft and fierce. "Keep your butthole relaxed."

Breaking into helpless giggles, Danny snorted, "Now that was some epic romance right there. You're such a dork." 

"Bringin' out my A game - only the best for the man I love." Apparently so. Even the print on the condom packet said so, they'd be as close to bare as possible. The implication of love in this act hit Danny delayed in at least four places. Of course they loved each other, what else was there? 

Suddenly he couldn't breathe, he couldn't hear anything but his own too-fast heartbeat. On mute, he watched Sam kneel up to handle their safety quick and efficient, like he'd done it in the dark a thousand times. Then Sam noticed him looking. "What? We need to get tested before--" 

"No, that's not it." Danny could only hope his eyes or his face said the necessary for him in absence of speech. 

Sam nodded, and stretched his skinny frame over Danny once again. "I know right? Love, want, and I make you so fucking horny. Same, bro." It took a while for him to screw his dick in. The stretch was too much, only it wasn't. As Sam pressed into him, he was nearly to the point of calling it off so many times, but all that would come out of his mouth were deep, helpless groans. Fingers and lube were just not adequate but Danny breathed through it like Sam told him and let it happen. He laid his hands on that body like a blessing... and Sam laid him. 

If Danny had thought seeing Sam orgasm was the end-all, he had not anticipated seeing him fuck. Oh but god, it was like the most obscene dance in the world, the sexiest, Sam taking care of him with his clutching hands and his sex-puffed mouth trailing over flushed skin and his dick, all rhythm and beat. He became Danny's pounding, driving engine, all the power in his hips. From below, Danny, able to roam freely with his hands now, played all up and down the fretboard of Sam's spine. And more: he couldn't imagine a time when they wouldn't make love with his fist wrapped into Sam's hair, or when he wouldn't grab that jabbing little ass in his hand to pull him in deeper and deeper. 

The under-water effect suddenly receded in a reverse sound wave. Should they be kissing? They weren't kissing, they were both screeching and yelling and carrying on, for how long now? It seemed like hours, days. Danny's thighs burned; his balls hurt worse. Every thrust seemed to get him closer, but from farther away. He realized that Sam's right hand was between them, had been for a while, to stroke him beyond the point of hardness. Sweat poured down Sam's face and neck, and he finally paused to rasp out, "You wanna fuck me now?" 

Oh god. "...Yeah, I..." and that was it. It felt like he'd been backed up for six years or so, the geyser of jizz that splattered between them, all him. Sam stopped moaning long enough to watch him come. Danny, who'd had his eyes squeezed shut tight through the peak, could feel them observe and catalogue every nuance. At the end, he cracked open his eyelids and caught Sam's inhale. Yeah, there loomed the O-face, eyes rolled back, jaw stuck out and lip snarling, still pumping his hips till he shuddered and moaned Danny's name amidst the word-porn, calling out to his god and cursing him at the same time while inside, spastic pulses and heat fluttered. 

No one had ever done that before for him, attached his name to the pinnacle of release. Another weak spurt or two trickled from Danny. The stoned rush hit him then, as if his body had been waiting for Sam's completion. 

The body that hit the sheet next to him was utterly fucked out. Sam was shaking, his former focus crumbled. "Danny..." croaked Sam. He flung one arm out and death-gripped the drummer's wrist. 

"Wha Sssssaaamm?" Now it was Danny whose speech lagged into drunk and stoned-sounding. 

Next to him, labored breathing slowed. "I need you." 

It took a minute. "I think... y'just had me." Danny nearly giggled.

"Mm-hmmm. Need you here. With me. All night." Sam pushed out mini-sentences between breaths. 

"Of course. We're sweated out and covered in goo, though. We should shower." 

"I can't walk yet." 

So Danny carried him.

  


1 year later.  
Sam had been almost asleep, but then the faint light moved and changed color again. "Danny, put your phone down and go to sleep. It's been almost three hours," he yawned. They were laying in bed in another generic hotel room, morning just a few short hours in their near future. 

"I have a lot to catch up on," came Danny's half-muffled voice, his back to Sam in a failed attempt to shield him from the light of his phone. His hair made a black banner gilded with white-blue LED, the breadth and power of his bare shoulders as he propped himself on his elbow like living architecture. Now that he was finally off his self-imposed Internet hiatus, it seemed like he was online more than the other three combined. Since it was plain that Sam was awake anyway, he sat up. The covers pooled around his waist. 

On his back, Sam slid one hand down under the blanket to scratch himself. He stretched the arm closer to Danny over his head and bent it 90 degrees at the elbow, giving Danny a tempting view in the dim light of his smooth upper chest and his armpit with its dark little tuft. "What're you're so ravenous for?" he asked. "Should I worry about you getting addicted to porn?"

"Addicted to social media, perhaps."

Sam deliberately waited a second to answer. "Right... Content. In other words... Porn! Are you stalking yourself, hm?"

Now it was Danny who hesitated. "I know I shouldn't, but I need to know what they're saying about me these days." 

"I bet that 90 percent of them have forgotten about it entirely. Most of the rest probably don't remember what they were mad about."

"Why do they call me 'beast' do you think?" Danny burst out, stress evident in his voice. "Like I'm an animal. Subhuman."

"The things you referenced are unrelated. For certain, the first is a compliment," chuckled Sam. "They know you play like a beast. The logical conclusion is that you fuck like a beast, too." 

"Well, don't I?" 

"When you want to." Now there was a leading tone if there ever was one.

Danny closed his small-screen windows and set his phone face-down on the bedside table. "Roll over, Sammy. Daddy _hongry_."

  


Fin.


End file.
